Leftovers
by Geeky-DMHG-Fan
Summary: Sharing a Ministry office is hardly conducive to Hermione and Draco's already strained partnership. That they've both been recently dumped by their significant others doesn't help much either. Post-Hogwarts, EWE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Probably should not be posting this, seeing as I haven't finished any of my multi-chapter stories, but I'm feeling reckless! Hope you like it.

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**Leftovers**

**Chapter One**

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It had not been a good month for Hermione Granger, which was odd considering how wonderful the previous twenty-four had been. Harry had defeated Voldemort. Hermione had easily found her parents in Australia during the summer, and they hadn't even been that upset about the whole memory swipe thing. She entered her final year at Hogwarts, and naturally she was first in her class. Within hours of graduation she'd been offered an exciting job at the Ministry, which she happily accepted. And shortly after that, Ron had asked her to be his girlfriend. They'd just celebrated their first anniversary in July.

Yes, the past two years had been marvelous. It had all the makings of being the best years of her life. But now her life was just…well, crap.

It had all started on the first of August.

Due to construction projects in the Ministry, she had been forced to share her office with another employee in her department, one Draco Malfoy. Because of the year off she'd taken to go Horcrux hunting with Harry and Ron, Malfoy had one year's experience over her. And though he had no actual authority over her, he reminded her of his seniority every chance he got. The war may have rid him of his prejudice, but had done very little in changing his personality. He was still a complete and utter wanker.

And while she still got along with her parents, she'd recently moved out of the house into her new apartment. What was supposed to be an exciting adventure quickly lost its luster, and she was embarrassed to admit she was homesick.

It wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't feel so lonely, but Harry and Ginny had stopped spending as much time with her. Between them dating each other and the intense training they were undergoing in preparation for him being an Auror and her being the Holyhead Harpies' seeker, they didn't have much time for her.

But that was alright. After all, she had Ron, which was the most important thing. So when he dumped her without any explanation other than, "It's not you, it's me," it stung a little. Actually, it was closer to devastating heartbreak, but she didn't want to be melodramatic. Ron had assured her, "We'll still be friends," but as the days past, she saw that by 'friends,' Ron meant 'people who neither talked nor spent time with each other.' Pretty hard to accomplish when they both worked for the Ministry. But she supposed that, even though the Ministry was no longer big enough for her and Malfoy to have separate offices, it was the perfectly sized for Ron to hide from her.

Hermione thought she had hit rock bottom, but she'd just learned this morning that her rock happened to be situated atop a bed of quicksand. Who knew how much farther she had to sink today? Well, apart from the five floors to get to the Department of International Magical Cooperation, where she worked.

From the Atrium on Level Eight, the lift shot up to the First Floor and began its descent. What in reality took no more than a few minutes seemed like the longest elevator ride of her life. The instant she'd stepped into the lift, all eyes were on her. She was tempted to shield her face from their inquisitive stares with her copy of the _Daily Prophet_, but said paper was the source of their boorish curiosity. The instant the doors closed, she locked her eyes on the floor indicator lights, charting her progress as the elevator descended into the bowels of the Ministry.

First stop: Level One -Minister for Magic and Support Staff.

The doors opened, and an exchange of violet paper-aeroplanes occurred above her head, but no person left or entered the lift, and a few seconds later, the doors closed.

That wasn't so bad. Bring on…

Stop number two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry's Floor.

And wouldn't you know, Harry was entering the lift! She was happy, no, ecstatic to see him. If they weren't in so public a place, she would have collapsed into his arms. But this was neither the time nor place. Unfortunately, by the look on Harry's face, she wasn't sure he'd received that particular purple plane.

"How are you?" he said, his voice very quiet. Good thing the crowd of nosy strangers surrounding them had stopped talking so they could listen to their conversation. She (and they) could hear every blasted word. Well, they weren't going to get an emotional reaction from her. Smiling so widely her cheeks ached, she chirpily answered. "Great!"

"Really?! Have you, er, read today's paper?"

"Of course. Every morning during breakfast."

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I cannot believe R—"

"I've been meaning to ask, when does the Quidditch season begin?"

Harry blinked. Hermione wasn't exactly the biggest Quidditch fan. "Why?"

Quick! Think of something Quidditch…y related.

"I just wanted to know, so I could see Ginny before she got too busy." Good answer!

"Oh. Starts Saturday after next, but don't worry. Ginny plans on seeing you tonight. After what R—"

"Do you think she could get me tickets to her first match?"

Hermione thought Harry had looked confused before, but that was nothing compared to his face now. It was as if he'd just cast a Patronus Charm to relay an urgent message, and instead of his usual stag, all that appeared was a flobberworm, rolling around in its own mucus. Harry's stupor lasted long enough for four people to disembark on Level Three, two people to enter, and a flurry of lavender memos to further pollute the elevator space.

Sweet Circe, only two more floors till she could escaped from this box of hell!

"Uh…sure. Tickets. Got it," Harry said, finally losing interest in what Hermione assumed was his imaginary flobberworm's sluggish progress.

Before he could bring the subject back to what was better left unsaid, Hermione decided to take control of the conversation. "So where are you headed?"

"Level Seven."

The Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ron's floor.

There was a small gasp in the compartment and Harry looked around, suddenly aware that they weren't the only two on the lift. So much for "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Mad-Eye Moody must have been having a coronary in his grave.

Harry shifted, telegraphing he was aware he'd stepped in it. Hermione knew better than to ask for the reason behind his visit to Level Seven (she could guess easily enough), but Harry "Ever-so-helpful" Potter was not one to leave his friends in the dark. Strangers, though, could suffer in their ignorance, which would explain why he adopted a secret code to relay his next message.

"Thought I'd pay You-Know-Who a visit for doing You-Know-What and hex him in the You-Know-Where," he said, through the side of his mouth, though no quieter than before.

Too bad Harry's secret code appeared to have been created by a mountain troll. She couldn't even see Gregory Goyle, that paragon of intellectual ineptitude, having any difficulty deciphering the message's hidden meaning.

Hermione pulled out another cheek-aching grin. "I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

"Right. Sorry. Will shut up now."

"Thanks."

One problem eliminated and only one more floor to go. Deep, cleansing, breath. She could do this. Not that she had any choice in the matter. In the future, she would be taking the stairs.

The elevator doors began to open to Level Four: Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"Sally, did you hear about Ron Weasley?"

"Yes! Poor Hermi—"

By now the doors had fully open and Level Four Sally and slack-mawed What's-her-face were staring at Hermione, and rather stupidly at that.

"Uh, hello," What's-her-face said, as they stepped onto the lift. Hermione knew that this was the stop for at least one person currently in the elevator, but no one moved. She jabbed the "close" button, and the doors promptly shut.

Not one second had passed when there was a tap on her shoulder. Hermione turned around, dreading what she'd see. It was What's-her-face.

"Yes?" Hermione said, as politely as she could.

"We don't know each other, but I've, I mean, we've" What's-her-face pointed back and forth between her and Level Four Sally, "read every article about you since you went to the Yule Ball with Victor Krum. I feel like I've known you for years, and I just have to say that Ron Weasley is the greatest bastard in the world."

"And so you know," Level Four Sally leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "I have the perfect potion for this kind of thing. Two tiny drops in his butterbeer, and POOF," Level Four Sally paused to flash jazz hands around her eyes, "his manly bits will vanish into thin air."

All at once, every last male in the lift subtly repositioned their attachés to their fronts. Those that lacked such 'briefcases' settled for using their hands as protective baggage.

"They're still there, of course, they just can't see them. And it's only temporary, so you won't get in trouble for it either." Level Four Sally giggled. "Not that he's likely to report _that_ kind of thing to the healers."

For a second, all Hermione could do was stare back in astonishment. Who was crazy enough to make something like that, let alone buy it?

"Thank you, but really, it's not necessary," Hermione somehow managed to reply.

"If you change your mind, just say the word, and I'll give you a whole gallon of Invisiballs. I picked up five when they went on sale at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, so it's no trouble at all."

"That's very…generous of you."

"Don't mention it. We girls really need to stick together."

Hermione looked around the enclosed space. All the females, and Harry, were nodding their heads vigorously. Thankfully, Hermione didn't need to respond to this demonstration of girl power. The doors opened to her floor, and she bolted with a quick, "Bye."

Now all she had to do was navigate through another hallway of coworkers. Fortunately, the coast looked clear, and Hermione bustled towards her office.

"Can you believe it? Talk about awkward," said a voice from an office she was approaching.

"I know. They already want to kill each other. I can't imagine this making things any better."

"Poor Granger. Though it serves him right. He's the biggest prat I've ever had the misfortune of knowing."

"Who are you talking about? Weasley or Malfoy?"

"Take your pick."

"Shhh! I hear someone coming, and it might be You-Know-Who."

Hermione sighed. She wasn't cut out to be so miserable, or the object of everyone's pity and gossip. At least Malfoy wouldn't feel sorry for her, though she hardly expected comfort from that quarter. Uhhh, she didn't even want to think about how he'd treat her now.

Good thing he wouldn't be in their office. When Ron had dumped her, she'd taken a couple days off from work, and they hadn't even been engaged like Malfoy and Pansy. Under normal circumstances, she might have felt a twinge of satisfaction that Parkinson had dumped Malfoy, but having been completely shattered after Ron had broken her heart, she couldn't find it in herself to be so petty. Malfoy had enough to deal with without her adding to his problems. Hopefully, when he returned, he'd grant her the same courtesy.

Eager to escape the gauntlet of gossip, Hermione leaned heavily into her door, but found it was stuck. No wonder, seeing as she was the first to arrive. Hermione shook her head. My, she was out of it today. Casting a simple spell, Hermione burst through the door into the safety and solitude of her office.

A shock of white blond quickly snapped up from the desk, and Hermione had to bite back a groan. So much for peace and quiet.

Draco's eyes immediately narrowed and he spat out, "The door was locked for a reason. I'm not to be disturbed."

Hermione shut the door quietly behind her, abandoning all her good intentions in the hallway. "How is it that, even after a month of being trapped together, it's somehow escaped your notice that we share this office?"

Not expecting an answer, she moved to her chair and continued. "I have work to do. I promise not to speak with you unless I absolutely have to, so feel free to carry on with your brooding."

With that, Hermione sat down at her desk, which happened to face Malfoy's. He was still glaring at her as she placed the _Daily Prophet_ down. His gaze immediately darted towards it, but he said nothing.

A minute later, Hermione was already regretting her unkindness. It was all her parents' fault. Why they thought it necessary to saddle her with a stout moral upbringing, she'd never know. "Look, Malfoy, I apologize. I realize this must be upsetting for you. Have you considered taking the day off?" she said, offering him a small smile.

Rolling his eyes, he snarled, "I don't need time off. I'm perfectly fine."

Right.

"It's understandable to be hurt. You thought you were going to marry her, and now she's with someone else. Someone you can't stand. What you are feeling is perfectly natural." As Hermione spoke, the words seemed to be less about Malfoy and more about herself. Her throat began to tighten, choking on the words.

"I'm _not_ hurt," he said.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you like, Granger. I could not care less what you think," Malfoy paused, leaning across the desk. "And even if I were 'hurt,' you are the absolute last person I would come to for advice. You've done nothing but mope and drag your miserable carcass around ever since Weasley dumped you. It's as if I've been sharing an office with Moaning Myrtle."

"In that case, you should have no trouble crying your eyes out to me."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, but she Would. Not. Care. He had taken the olive branch she'd extended and promptly lit it on fire. If he wanted to be a jerk, she would gladly return the favor. She had her own problems and pain to deal with, and wouldn't waste one more second placating this obnoxious man-child.

Ignoring the whispers of her stout moral upbringing, Hermione picked up the _Prophet_ and held it up, blocking him from sight. That probably wasn't the best idea, since the words of the headline inflicted much more pain than anything Draco Malfoy could say.

_Pureblood Affair: Pansy Parkinson trades fiancé Draco Malfoy for Ron Weasley _

"No matter how many times you read it, it's not going to change," he said.

Hermione lowered the paper and glared at Malfoy. "Just because your ego's been bruised doesn't mean you get to use me as your punching bag. If you have issues, take them up with Pansy. Or Ron. Leave me out of this."

"And why should I do that? If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be in this mess."

Hermione completely dropped the paper, shocked that he could even reach such a conclusion. Gripping the edge of her desk, so she wouldn't topple out of her chair, Hermione leaned forward. "What?!"

"If you had been able to keep your man, none of this would have happened."

Hermione was out of her seat like a shot. "How dare you!"

Draco looked up lazily, as if he was dealing with nothing more than a billywig buzzing about the office. "Touchy, aren't we? Though I'd be upset too if I got tossed aside like a piece of rubbish."

"He did not leave me for her. He broke…" Hermione pursed her lips together, "...our relationship ended a month ago."

"Do you really believe they'd get engaged after just one month? Wake up, Granger! This has probably been in the works for a while now."

No, it wasn't possible. Ron would never cheat on her. Right? It was too painful to even think about, so she focused on the hateful little brat in front of her.

"You're one to talk. Pansy left you too."

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "She decided that public popularity was more important than money, and while I disagree with her assessment, I'm hardly surprised. Or hurt. Pansy is nothing but a conniving social climber. It was nothing personal. Just business. Weasley, on the other hand, isn't quite so cold. He would never have left you for anything so material as wealth or reputation, which leaves me to conclude that he just didn't want you anymore."

Ouch.

Hermione staggered back, as if he'd aimed a hex at her stomach. But the next second she was racing around their desks. Who was Draco Malfoy to tell her she was worthless? He was nothing more than a horrible man who was so miserable he couldn't handle anyone else being happy, so he went about finding ways to make others as wretched as himself. Pathetic! However, she could not verbally articulate this; she was too busy choking on her rage. Thankfully, the message was of a type that could be relayed without words or Harry's secret code.

Hermione drew back her arm and slapped Malfoy across the face so hard his head snapped back. The stinging in her palm brought her back to her senses, and all she could do was stare as Malfoy reached for his cheek and jumped out of his chair. By the look on his face, he was as shocked as was and not nearly as happy.

Remembering the last time they'd been in this situation, she expected him to turn tail and run, but he actually took a step towards her. He was much more menacing standing up than seated in his chair with two desks between them. Odd, but inconsequential. He may have had six inches on her, but she had right on her side.

"So help me, if you ever do that again…" he growled.

"You'll what?"

He took another step, and out of sheer perversity, she lifted her chin higher. It made it much more noticeable that the stupid git was becoming blurry, which meant she was about to cry. Now don't for one second think it was from sadness. Oh no, she wanted nothing more than to tear Malfoy limb from limb, and she wouldn't need a wand to do it. But being the undiscerning primate that he was, Malfoy could not discriminate between sad Hermione tears and angry Hermione tears. To him, there wasn't a difference; he'd crow about any kind of moisture leaving her eyes if he thought he was the cause. This may have been the worst day of her life, but she refused to contribute to her degradation by crying in front of Malfoy. It was time to leave, and fast.

But Malfoy's unrelenting grip at her elbow and the Ministry's anti-apparition wards put a stop to Hermione's disappearing act.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said, spinning her around.

"Get your hands off me, you toad!"

Either Malfoy was hard of hearing or took creative liberties in interpreting her demand. He, in fact, did not let go and continued sneering at her like she was a pile of Hippogriff dung in which he'd just stepped.

"Unbelievable. I'm the one who gets slapped, and yet you have the audacity to cry."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" she hissed, yanking her arm free from his grip. "I'm _not_ crying." And she wouldn't, just to spite him. Even if a thousand Ron Weasleys left her for a thousand Pansy Parkinsons and had a thousand red-headed children, not a drop from her eye would fall while this snake was anywhere near her. If anything, he would be the one crying in front of her. Correction, make that bawling on his knees, face down to the ground. Maybe she'd contact Level Four Sally about that potion after all. Yes, that's exactly what she'd do.

Her voice lowered as she issued a threat of her own. "And if you ever say anything like that to me again, I promise on your life that you will never see your—"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Hermione spun around on her heel, dread instantly crawling through her. There in the doorway was their boss, Xavier Hobbes. She nearly panicked, wondering if he'd seen what had just happened, but it was clear she had been spared. Hobbes hadn't even glanced up from the folder he was holding in his hands. Typical.

Hobbes was an older man, in his early sixties, with a full head of silver hair. He was tall and for the most part thin, but for the belly he'd accumulated in recent years. At one time, he'd been a very enterprising and industrious worker, earning his way into upper management. But once he'd turned sixty, he'd decided to take an early retirement without actually retiring. His hours were spent devising the holidays he'd take once he left the Ministry and started collecting his pension. Meanwhile, he passed on his neglected work to the younger members of his staff. His laziness was so well known, she'd heard the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures's pet Streeler was named after him. An apt name, considering a Streeler was nothing more than a magical snail. Though to be fair to Hobbes the Streeler, he probably moved faster than Hobbes the Sloth.

"Of course not, Mr. Hobbes," Hermione said, pasting a smile on her face and praying that Malfoy would play along. "How may I help you?"

"Actually, I've come to speak with you both. Please have a seat," he said.

Back in her chair, Hermione had the perfect view of Malfoy's face, and the glaring handprint she'd impressed upon it. Trying to ignore the disdainful looks of the red-faced Malfoy and the finger-wagging of the stout moral upbringing that would not die, Hermione shifted in her seat. She almost felt guilty. Almost. The satisfaction she'd felt from hitting him ran bone-deep, and now that she knew Hobbes was uninterested and therefore oblivious to any physical harm that befell his employees, she was free to savor it properly.

Hmmm, delicious.

"As you both know, what with Brooker taking that position in the Department of Mysteries, he has left behind many unfinished projects with quickly approaching deadlines."

It didn't take a psychic to see where this was going. She'd wager even Professor Trelawney could interpret these signs.

"First the bad news. Apart from myself, no one has worked here longer than Brooker. But since Brooker never liked working with others, there isn't anyone else in the department up to speed on his cases."

Except you, Hermione's brain pointed out.

"Now the good news. I've decided to entrust you two with his projects. This will give you the opportunity to prove your worth to the Ministry. You're my brightest employees, and between your shared brilliance, I know you'll acquit yourselves handsomely."

Hobbes set down a box on the seam where their two desks were joined. It looked manageable enough, but when he began using his wand to unload Brooker's files, he didn't stop until both their desks were covered in stacks of files three feet deep. The box must have had an expansion charm that allowed it to hold thirty thirty times its original size.

"And when are these projects due?" Hermione asked.

"They have various deadlines," Hobbes paused, scratching his scalp, "If I recall correctly, the earliest one is next week, and the last one is three months from now. Give or take a week or two."

"There is no way we'll be able to finish all this in that little time," Malfoy said. Well, that was probably the only thing on which they'd both ever agree. Hobbes was certifiable. Not even four wizards working together in perfect harmony could finish all this in three months. Brilliant or, in Malfoy's case, not, they would lose half their time in arguing, and that was assuming they didn't kill each other the first week.

Hobbes shrugged. "Then only work on Brooker's projects. Simple as."

"And our projects?" Malfoy asked.

"Just send the lot to my office when you've compiled them. I'll see they're taken care of," Hobbes said.

Of course this meant their work would be passed onto other people in their department, but she and Malfoy needed all the time they could get. Even with this reprieve, it would still come down to the wire.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Thanks for all your," Hobbes finally looked up from his file. "Oi. What happened to your face, Malfoy?"

"This?" he said, waving nonchalantly to Hermione's lingering handprint. "Granger hit me… Occupational hazard when working in such close quarters."

Hermione held her breath, waiting to see how Hobbes would choose to interpret Malfoy's answer.

"I see," their boss said. For a second, Hermione saw a flicker of intention flash in Hobbes's eyes, as if he should step in and do something, but just like that, it was extinguished. Intervening would be too much of a hassle, and it was easier to accept Malfoy's half-lie. "Right, sorry about that. Reports are that construction will be finished in six months, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Bureaucracy and all. More likely a year. On the bright side, it makes it easier for you to work together."

That was one way of looking at it.

"If you have any questions, I'll…we'll I'll see if I can get you in contact with Brooker, though I'm not making any promises. Since he's gone Unspeakable, I've had a devil of a time getting in contact with him. Which reminds me, I need to find a fourth for our Saturday tee-off..."

And with that, Xavier Hobbes closed the door behind him.

Malfoy took the folder nearest him and began sorting through its papers. "You owe me," he said, not looking up.

"Excuse me?"

"I could have told him what really happened in here."

"That's exactly what you did!"

"No. You brutally assaulted me, and I let Hobbes believe it was nothing more than an office accident. You owe me, Granger."

"First, I could have AK'ed you, and Hobbes wouldn't have lifted a finger to do anything. And second, we don't have time to play your stupid mind games. Let's just get these files in order by their deadlines, so we can get started."

Malfoy didn't argue back, but she knew he wouldn't let it drop. That wasn't the Malfoy way. He'd bring the slap up at some later date, when he could use it to his maximum advantage and her utmost exasperation and/or detriment. Little did he know that she still had Level Four Sally's potion as a last resort.

In spite Blackmail and Invisiballs looming in the air, they managed to get to work. Without speaking, they'd somehow come to the understanding they were each responsible for the files on their own desk. When they finished with that task, Hermione assumed they would collate them together. It was thoroughly engrossing and tiring work, and there were many times when she wanted to stop. But then she'd look up and notice that Malfoy was still going at it strongly. If he didn't need a break, neither did she.

When Malfoy finally set his files down, Hermione glanced over at the clock. Her stomach was currently in the process of digesting itself for sustenance.

"I suppose we _could_ stop for a quick dinner," she said, trying not to sound too desperate for food, though at this point she'd scarf down a handful of brussel sprouts' flavored Bertie Bott's Beans. Merlin, she'd even settle for sardines. She wasn't too particular, just starving.

From the look on his face, she would have thought Malfoy had just swallowed down a toe nail flavored one. "Are you joking? It's five. I'm leaving."

"Malfoy, you know there is no way we'll finish this without pulling extra hours."

"Be that as it may, my last night of freedom is not going to be wasted with you. We'll start with the crazy schedule making tomorrow. Until then, Granger," he bowed, doffing his imaginary hat to her, "piss off."

With a flick of his wand, the room went pitch black and he slammed the door behind him.

Well, that was fun.

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**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: This chapter is a wee bit depressing. But things start looking brighter towards the end. In any case, I hope you enjoy. Unfortunately, no Draco. Next chappie, I promise.

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**Leftovers: **

**Chapter Two**

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Turning the lights back on, Hermione decided it was time to leave. If this was her last night of freedom for the next three months, she wasn't going to waste it at the Ministry. One last hurrah, as it were. However, there was a slight problem. Even if she had no desire to waste her time at work, where would she waste it?

Her flat was woefully empty, the friends she was still in contact with (read: Harry and Ginny) were busy, her parents were out of town, and she had no boyfriend. There was always her old friends, but she hadn't spoken with them in ages and wasn't sure how to get in touch with them. Fortunately, all was not lost. There were three cases full of books waiting for her in her flat, just itching for her fingers to rediscover them. How very…depressing.

Well, who said she needed another person to have fun anyway? She'd go out by herself. But where? She needed something new. Something exciting. Hermione sat back in her chair and dug through her desk drawers. Aha! There it was. _Earnest Edgewater's Exciting Excursions: Wizarding London, 1999 ed_. She knew it would come in handy one of these days. Perhaps there was one last hurrah left in her, after all.

Even though she'd never opened it, the copy was a bit worse for wear. Not from herself, of course. She'd never harm any of her books, or anyone else's for that matter. The tome's mistreatment had come at the hands of others, and she'd rescued it from the Lycurgus Rochefort Magikal Publik Librarie's used bookstore. It was just around the corner from the Ministry, and she spent many of her lunch breaks there.

Now where to go? She cracked the travel guide open to the middle and began paging through the 'new and exciting' places wizarding London had to offer. Grimstone Gaol? Heard it wasn't nearly as impressive as the Tower of London. Madame Fabuleux Wax Museum? She shuddered, wondering how they'd rendered her likeness. And her hair. Ministry of Magic? Ha! Mordred's Museum of Monsters? They had a new exhibit on Voldemort and Deatheaters. As if she wanted to pay the price of admission to relive the terror and trauma of her childhood. Besides, she'd come across enough giants, acromantulas, and trolls to satisfy her for a lifetime. Next! Newt Scamander's Menagerie of Magical Beasts? Maybe. If she were eight. Twenty year olds were much too old for the zoo. Pemberley Stadium? Yawn, which meant that the Museum of Quidditch was also out. Qizilbash Quality Confectionary Factory? That was more up Ron's alley…

Setting the book down, her eyes drifted to the stack of files still atop her and Malfoy's desks. There really was a lot of work to be done. Hermione gathered the first of Brooker's files, just in case she had a few minutes to spare before her wild night. Oh, who was she kidding? The only place she was going was home. Grabbing as many files as she could fit in her arms, she teetered toward the door. Merlin, she was boring. And depressing. No wonder Ron had dumped her.

By now everyone but security had left. She stared down the hallway at the closed doors of the lift. There was probably no one in there, but given the horror of this morning, it was a risk she was unwilling to take. She headed for the stairs. What were three flights of burning thighs and calves in exchange for some peace of mind?

After some fancy footwork, she'd managed to open the entrance to the stairwell. Once she'd entered, she used her body to shut the door. Looking around and seeing she was entirely deserted, Hermione leaned against the wall, sinking slowly to the floor. Not smart. Now that she was on the ground, she had no idea how she'd get up. Not that it mattered. It wasn't like she had any pressing plans. If she was going to be miserable and alone, the Ministry of Magic's stairwell betwixt Levels Six and Four was as good a place as any.

With her thoughts unoccupied by work, her focus automatically shifted to Ron…and Pansy. Unbelievable! She'd invested nearly a quarter of her life into him and then their relationship. Yet in just one month (ONE!), he'd started dating someone else. She'd barely had the chance to grieve the death of their relationship, and he'd already asked Pansy to marry him. Ron hadn't even done that once in the year they were together.

But that spark of anger was easily soused by the deluge of pain she was currently drowning in. The suffering was indescribable, which was saying a lot considering her history. Yet she'd never hurt like this before. Not from the insults of Death Eaters and the prejudiced bigots and bullies at Hogwarts. Not even during Bellatrix's torture. Not during the war. Not from the loss of friends she considered family. Then she had been fighting an enemy. But Ron…he was her boyfriend, her first love. He wasn't supposed to hurt her, but somehow he'd managed to wound her more than any dark curse ever could.

The tears Hermione had held back earlier in the day somehow managed to crack the dam she'd erected and were slowly seeping out the sides of her eyes. They continued their way down her face, splashing onto Brooker's files, which she tightly clasped to her chest.

Hermione dashed her forearm across her watery eyes. How could she be so stupid! Even up until that morning, she had held out hope that Ron would come back to her. Didn't he know? They were supposed to get married, have a girl and a boy, then live happily ever after. That was the plan, and she'd done everything within her power to accomplish it. But then the impossible happened. She'd failed. And what was a Hermione Granger who didn't succeed? Absolutely nothing.

This was something new, something huge she couldn't wrap her head around no matter how hard she tried. Some might have accused her of overreacting, but they were wrong. Perhaps her feelings for Ron began as a girlish infatuation, but they had long since matured into something far greater than that, something beautiful. She'd loved Ron more than anyone or anything she'd ever loved in her entire life, and she was proud of the way she loved him. She hadn't been selfish, she was considerate of his needs and feelings, encouraging and honest, patient and understanding, but it hadn't been enough.

She hadn't been enough.

A tiny sniffle escaped her nose, and she flinched as it echoed in the cavernous stairwell. To her horror, a few seconds later, it was joined by a few other sounds: huffs of breath, clomping feet, and whistling. There were only a few seconds left before some stranger sprang around the corner of the stairwell and saw her heart-sore, puffy-eyed, and snot-nosed. Not a good combination under any circumstances.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, and in her haste spilled the files across the floor. She stared at them stupidly, on the verge of abandoning them entirely. But something wouldn't let her. Whether it was her own work ethic, the threat of Malfoy killing her, or her stout moral upbringing, Hermione dropped to her knees and began picking up the papers, though she had enough presence of mind to turn her back so the stranger wouldn't see her tear-stained face.

"Hello, there," the person said upon seeing her. Hermione's head snapped up at the sound, and she burned as bright a red as the hair on the head of her "stranger."

"Need some hel…" Ron's voice trailed off as he saw her face.

Forcing her head back down, Hermione kept picking up her papers, hoping Ron would just leave her to her misery. But he didn't. He knelt down and began helping her. With his head bent so close to hers, she could smell his familiar scent. It had been so long, she'd almost forgotten it. A memory she'd been trying to repress wrestled free to taunt her. Her and Ron seated on the couch, cuddled next to each other, watching movies and eating popcorn. Another wave of melancholy washed over her. All she had now were memories, and soon not even those. They'd give way to time and inaccuracy, and then eventually they'd be forgotten altogether without any chance of renewal. Ron was with Pansy now, not Hermione. And he'd never be with her again. Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself against a very bleak future.

They both stood at the same time, and he handed his stack of papers to her.

"Thank you," she managed, still unable to look him in the eye.

"Don't mention it."

Doing what she should have done earlier, Hermione shrank the files and placed them in the pocket of her robes. Her hands instantly went to the folds of fabric, twisting the material in her fingers as she tried to stand still. For his part, Ron was doing his best imitation of a hornbeam tree. Mute and immoveable. It was all so damned awkward and painful. Fumbling for the doorknob, Hermione decided that perhaps the elevators weren't so bad after all.

"Well…I should be going," she mumbled, turning away.

"Hermione, wait…"

She sighed. Everything in her positively ached with weariness. She didn't want to have this talk. Not here. Possibly not ever. But it needed to be done. Drawing from her stores of energy and dignity, which were running on fumes, she turned back around with a smile on her face. "Yes, Ron?"

He cleared his throat, running his fingers through his already ruffled hair. "I should have told you about Pansy sooner…I never intended for you to find out about it in the papers."

"Perhaps if you hadn't been haunting the Ministry's stairwells for the past month, we would have run into each other sooner. Now, could we speed this up? I'm in a bit of a hurry." The words came out clipped, detached. Just as she wanted.

He snorted, gesturing to her pockets and the shrunken files. "To do what? Work at home?" Ron crossed his arms over his chest, stubbornly lifting his chin. "I knew you'd be like this. That you wouldn't understand."

"No, I don't understand! Please enlighten me, Ron. How is it that you managed to fall in love with _Pansy Parkinson_ and ask her to marry you all within the space of a month? That's quite impressive, considering you were both already in long-term relationships WITH OTHER PEOPLE! And that doesn't even touch upon the fact that you hate Slytherins and that Pansy Parkinson is the most prejudiced, materialistic, and spiteful snake of them all."

_Wake up, Granger! This has probably been in the works for a while now._

Malfoy's words roared in her mind, and she took a step towards Ron, whose ears were now an electrifying shade of red.

"You don't like her, fair enough, but she's my fiancé now, and I don't appreciate you talking that way about her. And as for me and Pansy, it's not like I meant for it to happen that quickly. It just did."

Hermione ignored him, too angry to care if she was making a fool of herself and certainly not caring what she said about that pug-faced witch. "But to do it in only thirty days. The destruction of two relationships. Turning love to hate. That's a serious undertaking. For most people it would take a year. Probably two. Or at least a Time-Turner. Did McGonagall lend you hers? Or maybe, maybe it wasn't that complicated at all. Maybe you just cheated on me."

"Wait. What? You think I cheated on you?"

"I don't know. Did you?"

Ron stared back, clearly horrified. "I would _never_ do that to you. I wouldn't even let myself date her until after I'd ended things with you."

"How considerate of you. So how long did you have to struggle with pretending to like me?"

"Hermione, don't be like this."

How did he expect her to act? He'd ripped out her heart, stomped on it, and then handed it to Pansy to do likewise. Under the circumstances, she thought she was being more than civil. But just to humor him…

"Fine, say what you need to say," she said.

"I didn't mean for it to happen. I just met her in the Ministry one day when she was visiting Malfoy, and it kind of went from there."

"When was this?"

"Four. Five months ago."

"Sounds like cheating to me."

"I told you I didn't start dating her until after I had broken up with you."

"Well, that's a relief. I'll be sure to remember that when I'm crying myself to sleep every night."

"Merlin, Hermione, what do you want me to say? I'm sorry, alright! It wasn't something I wanted to happen. It just did. Like love at first sight, or something."

Hermione's eyes widened. How could anyone be this dense? "Hogwarts, Ron! You saw her every day for six years!"

"Look, I don't expect you to understand. Until it's happened to you, you can't."

Of course she understood what it was to love someone else. That's what she'd been doing with Ron for the past four years. Hermione stumbled back, reaching for the wall, but Ron was oblivious. He was too lost in reminiscing about the sheer wonderfulness that was falling in love with Pansy Parkinson.

"From the moment I saw her there was this spark. I tried to ignore it. I didn't want to hurt you. I tried to convince myself that I was still happy with you, but I just couldn't anymore. I just…I think I outgrew you. I mean we were such kids when we started dating. I didn't really know who I was. I was so stupid, too stupid to be in any kind of relationship. But now having been out in the real world, I really think I know what I want now. I have to do what makes me happy."

So that was that. He regretted their relationship. Considered it nothing more than a mistake of his youth and immaturity. Hermione nodded her head, her treacherous tears starting to spill forth once more.

"Please don't cry," Ron said, taking a step towards her, obviously wanting to offer comfort, but she turned away from him. He wasn't her boyfriend anymore. She might still love him, but she couldn't take consolation from him, and the sooner she accepted that, the better.

"How could you, Ron? You said you loved me."

"I did."

Hermione let out something that sounded like a cross between a groan and a wail, and Ron placed a hand on her shoulder, which she quickly shrugged off. "I mean, I do. When I said that, I meant it. It's just…I do love you, Hermione… just not in the same way as I do Pansy," he said, so quietly she almost couldn't hear him. "Please…please stop crying, Hermione. I feel terrible."

But she couldn't stop crying. The sobs wracked her body, and she was having trouble breathing. Ron pulled her in his arms, and she leaned into him, too wretched and tired to care about who was hugging her. She just felt so alone, and she needed to feel that there was someone out there that cared and understood what she was going through. Obviously, that person was not Ron Weasley, but sorrow had short-circuited her normally logical brain, and so she stood there, wrapped in the embrace of the most insensitive prat in the world.

Her breathing was just beginning to return to normal when a loud sound reverberated up the stairs. "Raw-ohn!"

Ron's arms quickly dropped from around her, and he widened the space between them. "That's Pansy," he said, somewhat alarmed. "I should go. I'm really sorry. We'll talk later." And then he bolted down the stairs to intercept his fiancé. "Be right there, Pans."

Hermione tried to move, but now that Pansy wasn't going to see her like this, she tortured herself by listening to the conversation taking place out of sight on the floor below.

"I've been waiting in your office for twenty minutes," Pansy said, clearly annoyed. "I finally asked the guard where you went, and he said he saw you come in here. What are you doing in the stairwell?"

"I ran into an old friend, and we got to talking. Sorry for making you wait, but I promise I'll make it up to you."

"And who was this old friend? Not Hermione, I hope."

"No, it was Lee Jordan."

"Good. Poor girl. I hear she's still in love with you, not that I blame her. Still, I'd hate to have to be jealous. And you know how much I dislike sharing."

"You have nothing to worry about. Even if she still cares for me, I've chosen you. I love you."

Hermione covered her mouth, stifling a sob.

"That's right. If anyone should be jealous, it should be Granger. After all, I'm the one with a fiancé."

"So am I forgiven for making you wait?"

"I don't know," Pansy said in a sing-song-voice. "Should I forgive you?"

There was no sound for a few moments, and Hermione realized they were kissing under her feet. Maybe she could convince Hobbes to take the anti-apparition wards down from the office. Then she'd never have to run into anyone ever again.

"Am I forgiven, soon to be Mrs. Weasley?"

"I don't know, Mr. Weasley. I think I need some more convincing." And then there was girlish giggling and more silence.

Hermione wasn't a masochist. It was time to leave. Rushing out of the room, she ran down the empty halls straight to the elevator. Thankfully, there was no one there. Taking it down to the Atrium, she flooed to her apartment, where she planned to crawl into her pajamas and die.

On her hands and knees, she saw that her plans for an early death would have to be postponed. She had visitors.

"Hermione!" Ginny raced over to the chimney before Hermione had the chance to get up from her hands and knees, and pulled her into her freckle-covered arms.

Hermione could only imagine how terrible she looked. She'd been sobbing for the past fifteen minutes at least, and she was not a pretty crier. Her eyes would go red, as would her nose, which swelled and was no doubt beyond bulbous.

Lifting her head from Ginny's shoulder, she could see Harry scowling from his seat on the couch.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't have been here sooner. And that I'm related to that bastard. How he could go off and get engaged to that pug-faced cow…All of us want to disown him," she said, patting Hermione's head. Stepping back, Ginny took a look at her and frowned. "Why don't you go change and join us back on the couch?"

Nodding, Hermione stumbled into her bedroom and into the comfiest pair of pajamas she had. When she came back to the living room, there was a cup of tea and a box of Kleenex waiting for her. Both Ginny and Harry had scooted to opposite edges of the couch, and Ginny motioned to the empty cushion between them. On top of it was a white medium-sized box wrapped with a red ribbon.

"Harry and I got you something," Ginny said.

Hermione picked the heavy box and set it down on the coffee table in front of them. "Thanks, but I'm not in the mood for presents right now. I'll open it later."

Ginny and Harry exchanged looks, but said nothing.

"Alright. Tell us what happened," Ginny said.

"You read the _Prophet_. What else is there to say?" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice even. In the last month, she'd cried enough for two lifetimes. And she had the feeling, she wasn't even close to finished. But she wanted to keep it together for at least a few minutes more.

"You were fine in the lift this morning. Something else must have happened," Harry said.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, what was it?" Ginny said.

"I ran into Ron in the stairwell of the Ministry."

Ginny and Harry stared at her as if she were a banshee, and perhaps she was. Hermione had tried to speak calmly, but by the end of her sentence, her voice was pitched so high, it was best suited to communicating with bats and dogs.

Ginny shoved the mug of tea into Hermione's hands. "Here, have some of this."

Hermione dutifully drank the hot liquid, which tingled as it coursed down her throat and into her stomach. Somehow, she felt better. Now, instead of wanting to die, it only felt like a herd of hippogriffs had been playing gobstones with the shredded pieces of her heart. A vast improvement.

"What is this?" Hermione asked, sniffing the oddly flavored drink.

"Nettle tea," Ginny said.

Harry coughed.

Ginny raised her index finger and thumb, holding them less than an inch apart. "I may have mixed in a tiny bit of calming draught."

Harry coughed again.

"There might also be a bit of firewhisky. Alright, a lot of firewhisky."

Didn't have to tell her twice! Hermione quickly emptied the mug.

"So what happened?" Harry said.

By the time Hermione had finished recounting her stairwell saga, her head and feet were resting in Ginny's and Harry's laps, respectively. Ginny's fingers ran through her hair, while Harry kept his occupied, alternating between curling them into fists and cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ginny said. "But at the same time, I'm glad you aren't with him anymore. For for him to have the nerve to say those things to you…If my parents knew, they'd kill him."

Harry stood, causing Hermione's feet to flop onto the couch cushions. "Won't be necessary. I plan on doing it myself."

"Please don't," Hermione said.

"But he deserves it. Especially after what I told him today," Harry said.

"What?!" Hermione said, sitting up. "Why would you talk to him about me?"

Harry looked over at her, surprised at the sudden signs of life. "I told you in the elevator I was going to speak with him."

Oh, yes. Harry's coded message about kicking Ron in the You-Know-Where.

"No. I distinctly remember you saying you were going to hex him in his nether regions," Hermione said.

"Well, obviously I meant something else," Harry said.

"What else could 'I'm going to hex You-Know-Who in the You-Know-Where' possibly mean? Back me up here, Ginny. Doesn't it sound like Harry was talking about Ron's--"

Ginny shuddered and slapped her hands over her ears. "Sorry, Hermione, but I am neither physically nor emotionally capable of having any part in a conversation where my brothers' manly bits are the main topic. It's just not right. But that doesn't mean I'm siding with you, Harry," she said, her voice louder than she probably intended.

Harry threw up his arms, exasperated. "Honestly, no guy would ever hex another guy there. It goes against all manly decency. It's inhumane. Barbaric."

"Spare me your archaic 'bro code's," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"If you didn't want me to speak with him, you should have said something," Harry said.

"I did! I said 'I'd rather not talk about it.'" How was that not clear? Any normal person of even subpar intelligence could not have interpreted that in any other way but, 'do not share humiliating information about me with Ron.' It was as plain as day. Or the nose on Viktor Krum's face.

Apparently, Harry had never seen Viktor's face. "That's not the same thing! Ginny, tell her it's not the same thing."

Ginny uncovered her ears. "What? Were you guys talking to me?"

"Never mind," Hermione and Harry said in unison.

"Look, what's done is done. But I need to know exactly what you said to him." Hermione said.

"You know, stuff," Harry answered.

This was _not_ good.

Sensing the danger, Ginny poured her some more nettle tea/calming draught/firewhisky and held out the mug to Hermione, who chugged it down before continuing. "Harry. What. Did. You. Say?!"

Harry looked over to Ginny for help, but he might as well have asked Snape to name his favorite Marauder. "Yes, Harry, tell us what you said to dear old Ron," she ordered, folding her arms across her chest.

"Nothing really. Just that he hurt you. And maybe that you were lonely and sad. You know, stuff," he said.

Hermione felt her wand hand twitch and cursed the fact she'd left it in her bedroom. "Why, Harry?! Why would you do that?!"

Harry shrugged, but he wouldn't look her in the eye. "Why wouldn't I? It's not fair that Ron doesn't know how miserable he's made you," he mumbled.

Hermione buried her face in her hands, disbelieving what she was hearing. Thankfully, Ginny knew why she was so upset and explained to the clueless Harry. "You're right, it's not fair, but no girl wants her ex knowing how desperate he's made her—no offense, Hermione—"

Hermione groaned and fell back on the couch.

"See," Ginny continued, pointing to Hermione. "It's humiliating. As of now, Hermione's feelings are no longer Ron's business. He is officially cut off, and if you tell him anything like this again, you will be too."

Harry sat back down beside Hermione. "I didn't realize…"

Hermione waved away Harry's apology. "Doesn't matter now. If you hadn't given it away, I surely did by blubbering all over him in the stairwell."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I just wanted him to make things right," Harry said.

"It's not your fault," she said.

"I know. It's Ron's. That coward. He was in the stairwell to avoid you. Not apologize," Harry said.

"Did you honestly expect him to leave Pansy and come back to me?" Hermione said.

"No…Well, maybe at the time I did. But if he does it now, you should tell him to bugger off. Really, all I wanted was for him to apologize and set things right."

Hermione laughed mirthlessly, the sound echoing in the emptiness of her chest. "Well, he did."

"I'd hardly call what he did apologizing. For him to tell you that your relationship was a mistake, lecture you about what love was really like, and rub in how happy he was with Pansy…He is an ass." Harry shook his head, sending his black hair flying into his eyes. "I can't believe he actually said he had to do what makes him happy."

Hermione grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. Ron's words had made her feel about as loveable as a blast-ended skrewt. "Obviously I couldn't make him happy. Is it really fair to expect him to stay with me when I make him so miserable?"

Ginny shook her hands with such anger, Hermione wondered if she was picturing them wrapped around Ron's throat. "If he wants to pursue his 'happiness,' fine. The idiot's welcome to it, though good luck trying to find it with Pansy Parkinson. But to not even wait a month before he got engaged to her. And to not explain to Hermione the real reasons he broke up with her..." Ginny paused, taking a deep breath. "Augh!"

"It's not like we were married. Or even engaged," Hermione reminded them through her sniffles. "I should have been more careful. Not hoped for a future he never promised me."

Ginny turned to look at her, her brown eyes brimming with tears. "Hermione, don't blame yourself for this. Ron might not have asked you to marry him, but why wouldn't you expect that he would? All of us thought it would happen, and it wasn't just because of wishful thinking. He talked about your future together. You didn't just make that up." Ginny sighed, rubbing her forehead. "But that's Ron for you. Speaking without thinking about the consequences of his words."

Seeing both her friends so upset with Ron cheered her if only because it validated her feelings of betrayal. But she also knew that blood was thicker than water, and Harry's friendship with Ron ran deep. Even if she wanted to exact a promise that they'd always choose her over Ron, she knew she couldn't. She wasn't going to turn into one of those people.

"I want you both to know how grateful I am for your support, but I don't expect you to stay angry at Ron forever. I won't hold it against you if you decide to spend time with him, but I can't. Maybe in the future, but now…it's too painful. Still, I'd hate for this—for me—to ruin your relationship with Ron."

"What relationship? I'd rather vomit slugs than see him. And he has another thing coming if he believes I'm letting him keep those Cannon season tickets," Ginny said. "Probably thinks he can take that pug-faced cow to the games. Over her dead body."

"You didn't ruin anything, Hermione. This is Ron's fault, not yours. I can't believe…" Harry let the words trail off, his eyes filled with violence. "Did he really think he could do this without hurting you? And then beg you to forgive him not because he actually did anything wrong, but just so he could feel better?"

Hermione knew if she spoke again, she'd start crying, so instead she leaned over and hugged Ginny.

"It's not fair. I really wanted you for my sister-in-law, and now I'm going to get stuck with that thing," Ginny grumbled, wiping her eyes. "Would you ever consider dating Charlie? He's single."

"So is Percy," Harry added, helpfully.

"No one wants to date him," Ginny said, dismissively, then seemingly changed her mind. "Actually, if his type appeals to you, who am I to say anything? I just want you in my family."

Hermione smiled at Ginny's generous donation of her brothers. "Thanks for the offer, but it's a little too soon for me to think about dating anyone. Ask me again in about ten years."

"Ten years?! You need to get back out there again. Show Ron that he was nothing," Ginny said.

"But he wasn't nothing," Hermione said, effectively sucking out any humor from the room. What was wrong with her? Did she want to drive everyone away with her thunderclouds and sobbing storms?

"I know," Ginny said, hugging Hermione tightly. "But when you're ready, let me know. I already have five guys in mind for possible dates, besides Charlie…and Percy."

Harry looked over at Ginny, alarmed. "Geez, Gin. She just got out of a relationship, and you're already throwing her to the wolves."

"They're very good looking wolves. I doubt she'd mind," Ginny said.

Hermione shook her head. "Good looking wolves or not, I think I need time to myself. It's not just Ron. There's a lot of things in my life that I'm unhappy about, and I should fix those problems before I get involved with another person," Hermione said.

"But you're perfect. What could you possibly want to change about yourself?" Ginny said.

Hermione snorted. She was far from perfect. This went deeper than the usual insecurities everyone had about themselves. She was dissatisfied with how she was living her life, and she needed to change that. And this was the perfect time to start over. But communicating her new hopes after her previous ones had been so brutally dashed was about as pleasant as riding bare back on a Thestral. Hermione gripped her hands together, twisting them in her lap. "Well, it's just that I get really lonely sometimes. I've only really kept in touch with you, Harry, and Ron. Obviously, Ron and I aren't friends any more, and you and Harry have your own lives to live. I can't expect you to drop what you're doing every time I feel lonely. So I need to find things to keep me busy. Things I've always wanted to do, but just haven't for some reason. Like joining a book club. Or taking photography lessons. Or writing a book."

"Have you thought about getting a roommate?" Ginny asked. "I know Luna was looking for a place to stay."

Luna Lovegood as her roommate. That would certainly be…interesting.

"I don't know..." Hermione said.

"Well, it was just a thought. Anything else?" Ginny asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Malfoy. He drives me up the wall, and I just found out I'm going to be working with him on a long-term project. So a lot of my free time is going to be spent with him. I need to find a way of dealing with him, or we'll kill each other."

"I hadn't thought about Malfoy," Ginny said, tapping her finger to her chin. "He's kind of cute."

"Ginny!" Harry and Hermione shouted.

"What? I'm just stating the facts. No need to jump down my throat."

"Here are some more facts. We hate each other and he has the interpersonal skills of a troll," Hermione said.

"A rich and good looking troll. And can you imagine how jealous you two would make Ron and Pansy if you started dating? In any case, he can't be worse than Ron."

"Feel free to ignore her, Hermione. I think she had a bit too much firewhisky before you arrived," Harry said.

"No need to worry about that," Hermione said, reaching for another tissue to blow her nose. "The day Malfoy and I—" Hermione shrieked, yanking her hand back. "Why did my gift box move?"

"Looks like your present got tired of waiting to be opened," Ginny said, smiling.

"What is it?" she said, excited despite herself.

"Look and see," Ginny said.

Ginny shared the same genetic code as Fred and George Weasley, so Hermione had no idea what to expect. She carefully unwrapped the box, afraid of what would jump out. And she had every right to be, because the instant she opened the lid, something warm and wet attacked her hand, and she screamed again.

"Why are you two laughing?! I have just been viciously attacked—"

Harry pulled the murderous creature out.

"—by a puppy," Hermione finished lamely.

Hermione was already holding out her hands and stared into its warm brown eyes and droopy face. "It's adorable."

"I'm so glad you like him," Ginny said, beaming. "We know how sad you were when Crookshanks ran away while you were searching for Horcruxes, so we thought another pet might cheer you up."

"How did you get him to be so quiet?"

"We gave him some sleeping potion. I was so worried he'd wake up and run the box off the table."

Harry nodded. "Gin and I found him at a shelter. He's a Tibetan Mastiff and already toilet-trained."

"And neutered!" Ginny added. "We left the rest of his supplies outside, so you wouldn't see them."

Harry reached inside the box again. "Also got you this book."

_Puppy Love: How to Raise Your New Best Friend_

Hermione held her new pet up to her face, and her furry friend happily covered her face with doggie kisses. "I think I love him already."

"What are you going to name him?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

"You should call him Malfoy," Ginny said. "I bet he'd love that."

Hermione laughed. "If you wanted me to name him Malfoy, you should have gotten me a snake. Or better yet, a ferret."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ginny said.

Soon after that, Harry and Ginny left. Drained from the events of the day, Hermione retired to her bed, where she quickly fell asleep, with her puppy snuggled up next to her.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review.**


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